A RIPPLE IN STILL WATER
THE PROMISE OF AN OASIS led us here beneath Interstate 35, where the Old San Antonio Greenbelt borders the edge of Onion Creek. It was Easter weekend in 2020, but we weren’t gathering. A month into the pandemic, still unsure how to interact safely, we sought spaces mostly absent of humans.
I guided our old minivan under the freeway overpass, and we rumbled down toward the creekbed. My two kids—my son, August, and daughter, Lyla, then 6 and 3—looked bewildered in the backseats. Where’s dad taking us this time? The concrete stanchions supporting the tall interstate bridge make an apt canvas for graffiti artists. But I’d done my due diligence researching Onion Creek, among the longest in the state and one of the most environmentally sensitive waterways in the Hill Country. I knew a potential paradise lay at the water’s edge.
Walking closer, the gurgling creek eventually drowned out the sound of the vehicles overhead. From under the shadow of the overpass, we emerged onto an expansive limestone plateau, bleached white by the blazing sun. August spread his arms wide and ran toward the clear, cool water. I breathed deeply and took in the scene: cypress trees mirrored by still pools, herons plucking fish from gentle rapids, wispy clouds high in the sky.
Onion Creek wasn’t our first option for a retreat. Like a lot of families forced outdoors during the pandemic, my wife, Lindy, and I initially gravitated toward Austin’s revered waterways. Barton Creek and
